This week’s recap of Breaking Bad Season 5 Episode 8, “Gliding Over All”, is made possible by proceeds from this photograph of Mitt Romney riding bitch on a jet ski.
Foreword: As much as I want otherwise, I am pressed to reckon the previous two episodes of Breaking Bad constitute the weakest since the show’s first season. These are episodes content to end with neither bang nor whimper, but with a nonplussed shrug. From Walt’s forced and cloying “say my name” diatribe last week to Hank’s figuratively and literally shitty deus ex machina discovery that brought the abridged season to a close, I have felt a slackness to the production that the show has heretofore subverted expertly, gloriously. Walt’s extempore reversal, nine simultaneous murders, an overseas distribution expansion, all of it transpired without the narrative complications that have previously so fueled the story of Walter White’s fall. In the end, everything struck as a jettison to prime the audience for the final reveal, an inevitability packaged with the show since inception. These are, of course, opinions held with regard to a partial commodity. I have access to only half of the season’s full run, but unlike, say, offering a review after having read half of a novel, serialized television is as much a sum of its parts as a greater whole. The sum of these parts doesn’t add up to much, at least yet, and though I don’t expect they ever will, I would welcome to think otherwise, when all is said, done.
Recapping: Breaking Bad Season 5 Episode 8: I Sing The Meth Electric
The end is halfway nigh. With Mike’s body stored in the roomy, luxurious, almost too big trunk of the Chrystler (GM: We Built It), Walt enlists Todd to help with the weekly cadaver dissolution. Pinkman nearly catches them in the act, but Walt beguiles him with another breakup speech, and we are cudgeled again with the subtle CLOSING DOORS=CLOSING DOORS metaphor. Closing doors, opening credits. Bywaingg. BREAKING BAD.
After a successful first date, Walt asks Lydia out for coffee and optional sex/fatal poisoning. Lydia complies, is this pictured face everywhere all the time:
The audience is treated, thankfully, to another ten minute exposition holocaust with Lydia where she details her every motivation and an opportune, fully-developed European distribution system for Walt’s patent-pending blue meth. “I must have, must have…err…forgot to mention—this, this the previous googolplex exposition drops.”-Lydia Walt decides not to poison Lydia, and I am left again to wonder why and realize that Marie is the woman I like most on this show, which I liken to self-inoculating diabetes in lieu of cancer.
Walt has a sit-down with Todd’s uncle, who happens, by chance, to be a criminal with access to a cadre of murderous skinheads capable of executing nine simultaneous executions at a hat’s drop. Everybody does win, I suppose. Walt muses on the storage of mass-produced motel art (Themes of this episode: random musing, bugs, lazy writing) and the nine CIs receive death by montage.
Walter Junior is so good with baby Molly I pencil him in for future godfather duties for my son, Chewbacca Petaccio. Marie informs Skyler that the time has come to establish a false sense of bonhomie for the final scene to dash. “I’ll talk to my husband who has spent the last seven episodes ruthlessly murdering everyone and dismissing any plea for sanity, humanity. I’ll give him the same speech I’ve given him scores of times, that should do it.”
Sklyer does that.
That does it.
“Shut up.”-Carmen Petaccio In Conversation with his TV, 2012
Walt drops a duffel of cash over at House Pinkman, but not before more random musing to reinforce the subtle RANDOM MUSING=RETURN OF HUMANITY motif. “Our RV was old. I never thought about motel art. Ciroc is delicious.”-The Reborn Walter White (Though, genius: Pinkman hiding his bong when Walt enters. Someone in that writing room still has his/her MacBook charged.). Walt tells Skyler he’s out of the serious meth game. Skyler’s face/us says, somebody missed the cold open of the season premiere.
When the dust settles, pool party. As we at home struggle to guess whom the sniper will shoot first, Hank announces his constipation, a since the hallway bathroom is currently occupied by no one, Hank uses the master bathroom, and if it wasn’t for that meddling lack of Beer Brewing Monthly, Walter White would have gotten away with it. Thankfully, Vince Gilligan took Karen Karbiener’s Walt Whitman seminar at NYU, too, and his are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul. I say now these are the soul! Bye, BB.
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